Wid. It is well bestowed then.

Fran. Your fair self, or your Sister as it seems, for what desert I dare not know, unless a handsome subject for your charities, or aptness in your noble will to do it, have showred upon my wants a timely bounty, which makes me rich in thanks, my best inheritance.

Wid. I am sorry ’twas not mine, this is the Gentlewoman, fie, do not blush, go roundly to the matter, the man is a pretty man.

Isab. You have three fine ones.

Fran. Then to you, dear Lady?

Isab. I pray no more, Sir, if I may perswade you, your only aptness to do this is recompence, and more than I expected.

Fran. But good Lady.

Isab. And for me further to be acquainted with it besides the imputation of vain glory, were greedy thankings of my self, I did it not to be more affected to; I did it, and if it happened where I thought it fitted, I have my end; more to enquire is curious in either of us, more than that suspicious.

Fran. But gentle Lady, ’twill be necessary.

Isab. About the right way nothing, do not fright it, being to pious use and tender sighted, with the blown face of Complements, it blasts it; had you not come at all, but thought thanks, it had been too much, ’twas not to see your person.

Wid. A brave dissembling Rogue, and how she carries it!

Isa. Though I believe few handsomer; or hear you, though I affect a good tongue well; or try you, though my years desire a friend, that I relieved you.

Wid. A plaguie cunning quean.

Isab. For so I carried it, my end’s too glorious in mine eyes, and bettered the goodness I propounded with opinion.

Wid. Fear her not, Sir.

Isa. You cannot catch me, Sister.

Fran. Will you both teach, and tie my tongue up Lady?

Isa. Let it suffice you have it, it was never mine, whilest good men wanted it.

Lan. This is a Saint sure.

Isa. And if you be not such a one, restore it.

Fran. To commend my self, were more officious than you think my thanks are, to doubt I may be worth your gift a treason, both to mine own good and understanding, I know my mind clear, and though modesty tells me, he that intreats intrudes; yet I must think something, and of some season, met with your better taste, this had not been else.

Wid. What ward for that, wench?

Isa. Alas, it never touched me.

Fran. Well, gentle Lady, yours is the first money I ever took upon a forced ill manners.

Isa. The last of me, if ever you use other.

Fran. How may I do, and your way to be thought a grateful taker?

Isa. Spend it, and say nothing, your modesty may deserve more.